


Just Looking

by Liethe



Category: Leverage
Genre: Asexual Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liethe/pseuds/Liethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though they've been together happily for some time, something still doesn't feel quite right. They'll work it out though; they always do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Parker walked in, Eliot and Hardison were sprawled across the sofa, twined around each other like there was nothing else in the world. Instantly, Parker forgot what she had been doing, and just stood in the doorway, captivated by the sight of them.

Eliot lay on top, his face buried in Alec's neck. She couldn't tell whether he was kissing, or biting, or just resting his head there and breathing in the scent of him – as Parker herself had been known to – but from the way that Alec's hand was twisted through Eliot's hair, holding him in place, it was obvious that whatever Eliot was doing, Alec didn't want him to stop.

Hardison's head was thrown back against the arm of the sofa, his eyes closed. She could see his lashes flutter, slightly, as Eliot worked a hand between their bodies, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Alec's jeans. The air was filled with the small, urgent sounds of their breathing, and the whisper of skin against skin. Then Alec opened his eyes, and noticed Parker where she still stood, across the room from them.

“Hey,” he said, face breaking into one of his easy smiles. His hand fell from the back of Eliot's head, so that the other man could turn to face her. He smiled as well, propping himself up on one arm so that he could see her more easily.

Parker still wasn't sure she liked people noticing when she walked into a room; too much of her life she had depended on being unseen. Still, she couldn't help but love the way her boys' eyes lit up when they saw her.

“I didn't mean to interrupt,” she said, in a way that was half regret at having broken up such a perfect moment and half a plea for reassurance that she wasn't intruding.

“It's not an interruption if you join in,” Eliot said with a smile which wanted to turn into a wink. He'd mostly learned not to wink at her, not when he wanted a reaction other than fond giggles, but she could still tell every time he had to stifle the reflex.

Parker frowned, slightly, not sure how to respond. She didn't know how to communicate the strange ambivalence she felt; the yearning towards them warring with a tiny but frantic urge to flee. She wanted them. There was no doubt about that. She wanted the sight of them together, the sound of their breath and their moans, wanted the profound sense of _rightness_  which came from the knowledge that they were together, but that was all she wanted.

“Maybe I could just... watch?” She asked. She tried a smile, to cover her uncertainty. Was that something you even  _could_ ask? There were all these crazy rules which started happening as soon as you moved beyond friendship, and Parker was fairly sure she didn't even know all of the friendship ones yet. Still, Alec and Eliot never made her feel bad for saying what she wanted, even if it was something they didn't understand. It had taken a long time for her to get to a place where she could sometimes ask for things, rather than trying to devise a way to steal them, and that she'd managed it at all was testament to the love and patience of the two men with whom she shared her life.

Eliot and Alec looked at each other for only the briefest of moments before nodding. Alec waved towards one of the chairs with a lascivious smirk.

“You want to watch, do you, baby?” She nodded. She did want to watch, just, maybe not in the way his tone of voice implied. She didn't see any need to correct him though, so she went and sat where Hardison indicated. When she sat down, she pulled her knees up to her chest so that she was curled around the bag of rope and rigging she'd forgotten she still held. It was a solid, comforting mass against her stomach. Not as soft as a stuffed rabbit, but somehow equally reassuring.

“Let's give her a show, shall we?” She heard Eliot say to Alec in a low whisper as they turned their attention back to each other.

Parker wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees. She watched as shirts, and then jeans, and then underwear ended up scattered on the floor around the sofa, the removal of clothing seeming almost incidental in the dance of hands on skin. She drank in their hunger, wrapped herself in the way they kissed, lips and tongues pressed together with such desperation, such need, as though each wanted nothing more than to climb all the way inside the other.

Her cunt ached and clenched as she watched them move together, but it was a distant sensation, as though someone were tugging lightly at the other end of a rope attached to her rig, not enough to hold her attention. Not enough to make her want to join them. In this moment, Parker could think of nothing she wanted except to keep watching. As she did, she saw things she'd never seen when she'd been in bed with them. She saw the way their need made them rough with each other, in a way they never were with her; hands gripping hips tightly enough to bruise, bodies coming together so violently that the slap of flesh on flesh seemed to echo in the quiet room. She also saw the way that the harder their bodies were and the more vicious their passions made them, the softer their eyes became when they looked at each other.

The look in their eyes was so intimate that she felt as though she should look away. The knowledge that she was welcome here; that she didn't have to look away; that these sights were permitted, were allowed, were  _ _hers;__  made her feel things she couldn't name. They were feelings she wasn't sure she could even encompass; they felt too huge to fit inside her. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds they made, when the sight of them together threatened to overwhelm her. The smell of sweat and sex was all around her, mingling pleasantly with the leather of the rig she still held. She noticed the way they breathed together, in unison, and matched her breathing to theirs. In and out, in and out.

It seemed like only moments later when a light touch on her shoulder woke her up. She looked up and saw Eliot standing over her, Hardison behind him. They each had towels around their waists, and Eliot's hair was wet, beads of moisture running down his chest where the ends dripped onto him.

“You bored or something?” He asked. She worried that she'd done something wrong by falling asleep, but he sounded amused, not angry.

“Just relaxed,” she answered, truthfully, unwinding herself from the tight ball she'd curled into, stretching her limbs luxuriously. As she stood up, Eliot held out his arms, tilting his head to one side in their unspoken code for 'want a hug?' She smiled and leaned in, wrapping one arm around him, and holding out the other one to make space for Alec in their embrace. The three of them held each other for a moment, and then separated; Hardison and Eliot to go and get dressed, Parker to finally put away her rigging and rope.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Anything on your mind?” Eliot asked, as Parker awoke from her doze. She'd fallen asleep again.

She didn't always fall asleep, watching them, but it wasn't exactly rare, either. Gradually, over the last weeks, Parker had spent more time watching them together, and less time joining in. She never seemed unhappy, never seemed to feel left out, and so they didn't really comment on it, other than to ask that she always make them aware that she was there. She was too good at sneaking around, and it wasn't that they minded having her there, quite the opposite, but it could be off-putting to suddenly discover a third presence in the room when they thought they were alone.

Parker took to it as she took to most of the boundaries they'd worked out with her - with cheerful acquiescence, if not understanding. Or rather, she understood that these things were important to them, and even if she couldn't quite grasp why, the fact that it  _was_  important was enough for her. For someone who'd lived life almost exclusively on the wrong side of the law, she was very reliable about following the rules they'd worked out to keep their relationship running as smoothly as these things could.

Parker blinked, still half asleep. She looked around, but couldn't see Hardison. The distant sound of the shower told her where he was. He always had to be first in the shower after sex if they didn't all shower together. His fastidiousness amused her, sometimes, although sometimes it was annoying too; like the times when he refused to touch her when she'd been crawling through particularly dusty air ducts until after she'd cleaned up.

Eliot was looking at her expectantly, and she remembered that he'd asked her a question.

“I don't think so.” She said, uncertainly. She hated questions like that. Of course she had things on her mind. She was always thinking about _something._ She was the mastermind now, after all, so thinking was what she did. Well, that and stealing things. Thieving was her first love, and the thrill of a successful con would never be quite as sweet to her as the feeling of wind on her face and a stolen masterpiece in her satchel, or the click as the tumblers fell into place and a lock opened under her hands. She was pretty sure that Eliot didn't mean any of those things though. He meant other things. _Feelings_  things.

“If there's something we aren't doing right, or something we're not doing, you know you can talk to us about it?” Eliot asked. He phrased it as a question, but it wasn't really a question, not any more. She knew. But she nodded anyway.

“Things have been different, recently.” Eliot continued. “Not bad! This ain't a complaint, darlin', not at all. You know neither of us would dream of pushing you to do anything you didn't want to. If this is what's right for you, that's fine, and that's true whether this is a just-for-now thing, or a from-now-on thing. You just let us know.”

Parker nodded again, looking at Eliot's hair, the movement of his lips as he spoke, the lines of the muscles in his chest. Anywhere except his eyes.

“We'll be patient as long as you need. You know that. But if you think you might be able to talk about whatever it is that's going on in there, we'd like to hear whatever you had to say. Okay? We can't help but wonder.” He held out his arms to her, and when that elicited no response, he smiled at her instead, and went to go and make breakfast. He was more than used to the way Parker sometimes didn't like to be hugged, and it didn't worry him any more. Parker sat where she could watch him cook, listening to the way he hummed contentedly as he worked.

She knew that people weren't all the same. Alec was different to Eliot, and neither of them was like anyone else she'd ever met. Still, she thought that perhaps she was more not-the-same than they were, or they probably wouldn't feel the need to keep telling her it was okay to be different. She didn't really care if it was okay or not – it wasn't like she had a choice in the matter, and she didn't think she  _would_ change, even if she could. The way she was might not be normal, but it was normal for her, and that was enough.

She appreciated the work they put in to understanding her, but that didn't mean she had to like just how  _much_ work it took. She knew they'd had to adapt more to her than she had to them; learning to let her hug them, rather than hugging her first; keeping a separate bed in an empty room for those nights when she wanted to sleep alone; making extra space in the bed on the other nights when her two boys weren't company enough, and she brought Bunny to bed with her. They put up with the way she preferred to eat food they'd tasted first, and didn't ask why, and when the three of them had moved in together, they hadn't asked her to give up her warehouse, even though they had both gotten rid of their own places.

All she'd had to do was learn to stop pushing Hardison over ledges when it wasn't  _absolutely_ necessary, and never to steal Eliot's shampoo. Small prices to pay, really, when they made her so happy. So she fixed that thought in her mind and resolved to try and find some answers to the questions Eliot and Hardison had been carefully not asking her, and which, truthfully, she'd been equally carefully avoiding asking herself.

With the ease of long practice, she ignored the part of her which grumbled about the necessity of not only  _feeling_ feelings, but talking about them and understanding them. She'd never needed to bother with all that back when she'd worked alone, and sometimes she missed those simpler times. Well, sort of. She missed them in the way that most people seemed to miss high school, without ever actually remembering that they'd mostly been miserable there.

When, like now, she was being honest and fair, she acknowledged that she liked it better this way, but she was a thief and a criminal too, and so sometimes she liked to ignore all things fair and honest, and wish that all this feeling stuff would just go away, and she could go back to the way she used to be. She was careful to only get those thoughts out when she was alone though, when she had plenty of time to put them away again before going back to her boys. She knew they weren't true, even if they were some of the more seductive of the lies she liked to tell herself sometimes.

For now though, Eliot was leaning over her to hand her a plate of pancakces and his hair smelled just perfect where it brushed her face. She thought, not for the first time, that perhaps the reason he wouldn't let her use his shampoo was so that she'd never be able to get quite enough of the scent of it, and she'd have to keep coming back to him for another fix, as if he needed to give her reasons to be close to him. She decided, as she ate her pancakes, that the least she could do was try and find a way to explain to him what was going on with her at the moment, especially if he was going to make her such wonderful food. All she needed to do was explain it to herself first.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I made cake,” Parker called out as she heard the door open. The boys had been out at some kind of game. One of the ones with balls and sticks, she thought. She didn't really pay much attention when they talked sports. As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, Alec looked at her curiously.

“Right-now cake, or do we have time to shower first? I'm all sweaty.” He grimaced, pulling the sweat-soaked shirt he wore away from his body and giving it an exaggerated sniff.

“It'll keep,” Parker replied, knowing that the question he was really asking was whether she needed to talk to them urgently or not.

Parker wasn't a natural cook. The 'cake' she made was actually just her favourite cereal mixed with melted chocolate and syrup and left to cool. The less Parker had to do with an actual cooker the better – or, indeed, actual ingredients, since Eliot grew as much of his own food as he could, and he could get irritable when his produce was wasted on Parker's 'experiments' which almost always turned out to be inedible. Still, once they had persuaded her to try using bitter, dark chocolate for her cakes, to offset the sweetness of the cereal, the results were actually quite palatable. Even so, Parker never cooked unless she had a fairly compelling reason to do so.

Ever since Eliot had taught her about feeling things with food, it was always a pretty safe bet that if Parker cooked them something, that meant she had some feelings she wanted or needed to talk about. As a general rule of thumb, the sweeter the food, the more she needed them to know she loved them. The cereal in today's cake contained more e-numbers than grain, and she'd fallen back on bad habits and used milk chocolate, not plain, which meant that whatever Parker wanted to talk about, it was big.

Alec and Eliot both noticed the cereal box on the counter, and the empty chocolate wrappers next to it, so they knew the impending talk was a serious one. Still, Parker had said they had time to shower, and they'd both learned the hard way that sometimes you had to treat Parker the way you did a stray dog or feral cat – you had to stay calm and act like everything was fine, because if you showed fear the situation would escalate in a bad way - so they left her licking out the last chocolate from her mixing bowl and went to shower.

They showered together, which should have been quicker, but wasn't. They took their time, but the time they took was not wasted; when, finally, they were clean and dry they were also feeling relaxed and reassured, secure in their love and their ability to handle anything which life – or Parker – might throw at them. Including cake which somehow managed to be sweeter than pure sugar.

When they emerged, both Hardison and Eliot took steps to prepare themselves; Eliot made a huge mug of the blackest, bitterest coffee he owned, to offset the saccharine sweetness of Parker's cake, while Hardison pulled out a bottle of orange soda – arguably just as sweet as what Parker had made them. Unlike Eliot, whose palate thrived on contrast, Hardison found the best way to tackle an unfamiliar sweetness, was to drown it with a familiar one.

Drinks made, they sat at the sofa and waited for Parker to join them. They left enough space between them for her to sit, but she chose to perch instead, sitting on the back of the chair opposite them, her feet on the seat. It was a posture which said that she was prepared to flee at any moment – one that both Eliot and Hardison were more than familiar with from the early days of their relationship, when they had first begun teaching Parker that while running away from trouble was an excellent strategy for a lone thief on a job, it didn't get you very far in relationships. Still, Eliot noticed that she'd positioned herself so that they were between her and the front door – her clear line of escape was to her room, not to the outside. That was a good sign.

Eliot took a large gulp of his coffee and set it down on the table, before picking up a square of cake from the plate Parker had laid out. The coffee was still too hot to drink comfortably, but that would only help to dull his taste buds. He took a bite of cake, and was surprised to find a more complex flavour than he was expecting. Sure, it was still much too sweet. Much  _much_ too sweet, but there was something else there, something his carefully deadened senses were struggling to pick out. Cinnamon, and another, subtler, taste. What was it?

He worked it out not long afterwards, as he bit down on an unexpected cardamom pod, and the subtle flavour he'd been trying to identify suddenly became overwhelming. Clearly she'd remembered the last time he'd tried to teach her to cook, and had waxed lyrical about how much he loved the grossly underrated spice. Equally clearly, either he'd neglected to mention that you were supposed to take the pods  _ _out__ before serving, or she'd forgotten him telling her. Still, he was touched that she'd put it in. The cinnamon had to have been for Hardison, who loved the stuff the way that cats love catnip. Eliot always put some in whenever he made Hardison cocoa.

The spices in the cake, as much as Parker positioning herself without a clear escape route, told Eliot that everything was going to be okay. Parker might not  _ _get__ cooking, but she definitely understood what he'd been teaching her about food and feelings, and this food had love in it, right alongside the spices. He smiled.

“This is good, Parker.” She beamed back at him, taking a slice for herself and motioning for Hardison to do the same.

“You mean it?” She sounded surprised; she knew that unless he was in-role on a grift, Eliot never gave anyone false praise. If he said it was good, it was.

“Definitely. You've balanced the flavours just right. Well, aside from the chocolate, which really should be fair trade, and minimum seventy percent cocoa.” She made a face, and he let the chocolate thing go. “The spices are really good.” Hardison took a bite, and looked pleasantly surprised.

“Cinnamon?” He asked around a mouthful of cake.

“Yep,” Parker replied, “and cardamom.”

“Oh,” Eliot said, belatedly, “watch out for cardamom pods.”

“Too late,” Hardison replied with a grimace, washing back the mouthful with a gulp of soda.

“What's wrong?” Parker asked, her face a picture of dismay.

“You're supposed to take the cardamom pods out again.”

“Out? Why put them in if you're just going to take them out again?”

“The flavour soaks into the rest of the food while you're cooking it. You take the pods out again because they're difficult to chew, and the flavour is very strong if you bite right down on one.”

“Oh.”

“The cake  _is_ good though.” Hardison nodded his agreement, chewing his next bite more cautiously, but with obvious enjoyment. Eliot took a sip of coffee, and then surreptitiously dunked a corner of cake in his coffee. The next sip he took had hints of cinnamon, chocolate, and cardamom.  _It tastes like us,_ he mused, smiling to himself; cinnamon, bold and flirtatious, with a heat that could sneak up on you when you weren't expecting it; chocolate, sweet and simple on the surface, but with a layer of complexity waiting for anyone with the patience to go deeper, and cardamom, subtle and easily overlooked, but strong enough to knock your socks off when put under pressure. Plus, just enough caffeine to make things interesting. He decided that he might just take his coffee spiced more often.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, the cake was all gone. Both Eliot and Hardison were surprised to realise that they'd finished the whole batch in one sitting, without really noticing it. Parker seemed more relaxed, a smile on her chocolate-smeared face as she watched Alec lick the last traces of cake from his fingers.

“Did you want to talk to us?” Eliot asked. He almost didn't want to ask, because everything seemed so perfect, right at that moment, but he knew that Parker wanted to talk, and sometimes she needed them to explicitly invite her to before she could speak up. She nodded, a short, tense, nod, and the smile disappeared from her face.

“I... This is _my_ body.” she said at last, the somber look on her face at odds with childish ring of chocolate around her lips. Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Eliot glared at him, and he closed it again. He took Alec's hand, squeezing it firmly. He was just as hurt as Alec was at the implication that she might feel that they didn't respect her boundaries, when they both tried so hard to make her feel safe, but he knew that talking over her was not the way to fix the situation if they _had_ been getting something wrong without knowing it.

“It's mine,” she carried on, “and it scares me when it does stuff I can't control. Like that time when I sprained my knee,” This time Eliot's glare wasn't quick enough to silence Alec.

“Sprained your...?! Babe, you tore your ACL!” Parker gave him a withering glare before carrying on.

“It scares me, okay? I'm in charge of everything my body does. It moves how I want it to, and it breathes when I want it to, and that's how I like it. That's what keeps me alive. But then came you two,” she gestured to them, “with your pretzels, and your _salsa verde,_ and you made me feel things. In here.” She pointed to her chest. “That was kind of scary at first, but then I decided it was okay, because I'm feeling things just in my _feelings,_ you know? My heart, not my body. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Eliot said, responding to the plea in her eyes. He did understand, in a way. Even more than Parker he relied on being able to trust his body to do what he told it to, and only that. More often than not, it wasn't just his own life on the line if his body failed him.

“But when we have sex, you both make me feel things in my _body,_ and you make my body do things that I'm not in control of. My muscles spasm, and my breathing speeds up, and it feels kind of okay in my body, but in my heart it just feels scary and out of control. I don't like it.

“And then there's the fluids. Fluids everywhere, _DNA_ everywhere, and that's how you get caught, you know? It took me _years_ to teach myself not to sweat if I concentrated hard enough, so that I'd leave as little evidence as possible on a heist, but then you touch me, and I may as well not have bothered, because it's all fluids, and...” Parker trailed off, her eyes wide and panicked. She was breathing heavily, but they could both see her consciously get herself under control, as her breathing slowed to a steady, even pace.

“So you don't want to have sex with us?” Eliot admired how calm and matter-of-fact Alec sounded. He was usually the one of them that was prone to overreaction, and he could feel in the frantic grip of Alec's hand that the calm in his voice was entirely feigned.

“My heart wants to,” Parker said, “can I do that? Can I have sex with you, without you having sex with my body? I don't really know how all this stuff works, but I think that's what I want. I like to feel you here,” she put a hand to her chest again, “just, not here,” she dropped the hand and let it rest between her legs.

“Is that why you like to watch us?” Eliot asked.

“Uh huh,” Parker agreed. “It makes me feel like I'm a part of it, without all the scary stuff.”

“Is there anything else you'd like to do, or that you'd like us to do?”

“Maybe...” Parker trailed off, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap. They waited for her to carry on, giving her the space to get up the courage to speak, and eventually she did. “Maybe I could watch with my hands, as well as my eyes? Would that be okay?” Eliot looked at Alec, and it didn't take him more than a moment to read the answer in his face.

“I think we'd both like that.” Eliot answered. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning began as so many others had, recently; with kisses, and caresses which gradually became more intense, until Parker withdrew to the other side of the bed, giving Eliot and Alec space to finish what the three of them had started. Except, this morning, she didn't move as far away as usual. She didn't crowd them, exactly, but she stayed close enough that she was definitely part of what was happening, not separate from it.

Alec and Eliot noticed this, but didn't comment on it, as they had far more immediate matters vying for their attention. Eliot wound up on top; he usually did in the mornings, since he tended to wake up hours before the others did. Alec responded with sleepy enthusiasm as Eliot coaxed him fully awake with hands and lips and teeth.

Throughout it all, there was Parker. Her fingers twisted into Eliot's hair as he kissed Alec, her legs stretching down the bed to brush against the tangle of their feet. She felt the bed shift beneath her as they moved together, and it was like a tide, pulling her in, pulling her under.

She wove a hand between them with the same grace and surety as she slipped between laser beams. It was almost like doing recon before a job; working out just how far she could go without setting off the alarms, except that it was their bodies she was studying, her own alarm system she was trying not to trigger. Thinking about it that way helped. This was something she could do. This was something she could be good at.

She touched Eliot's chest, feeling the clench of the muscles under his skin, the beat of his heart under that. She used just the tips of her fingers, first, waiting to see if her heart would speed up to fever pitch along with his, but it remained steady and calm, so slowly she lay her palm flat on his skin, letting the heat of it sink into her. His skin was slick with sweat, but it wasn't  _her_ sweat, so it was okay. She thought it would probably be okay. She took her hand back and raised a finger, tentatively, to her lips. She tasted salt and thought about how strange it was, that something which tasted just like tears could mean something completely different.

She lay back and just watched them for a minute. Gradually, she inched closer, until her head was next to Alec's on the pillows. His head was turned towards her, but his eyes were closed. She'd noticed that he closed his eyes a lot during sex. Eliot joked that he just wasn't pretty enough for Alec, with all of his scars, and the lines of age on his face which had yet to touch either of theirs. She'd offered to braid flowers into his hair, though more because she loved to play with his hair than because she thought he needed to be any prettier. She liked how he looked just fine.

She thought she understood why Alec closed his eyes. It was strange, the way he lived so much in his head and so little in his body. She thought it was probably because he spent too much time with computers and not enough time jumping off things. She always felt at her most connected –  _embodied_ _–_ when she was falling, but Alec didn't like to fall, so maybe closing his eyes was what he did instead, when he wanted to feel that.

His lips were parted slightly, his breathing ragged. She turned her face towards his and moved in closer and closer, until their lips almost touched. She breathed in when she felt him exhale, and his breath in her lungs felt like a benediction. She kissed him then, the quick, dry, press of lips that she preferred. He was relaxed enough with her presence that he didn't even open his eyes, but when she lifted her lips from his she saw him smile.

Eliot shifted his weight so he could hold himself up with just one arm, and used the other arm to turn Alec's face to him. Their kiss was longer, deeper. She thought about breathing Alec's breath, him breathing hers, and knew that the air which now moved between his lips and Eliot's had been inside her, and that she was within the circle of their intimacy, not outside it. She put her hand over Eliot's, touching Alec's face in the gaps between his fingers. She saw how she fit into the empty places between them, and thought that maybe they fit into the empty places inside her, as well.

Those empty places, where for so long she had looked and failed to find the desires which seemed so integral to everyone else, were full of  _them_ now. When she had dared to hope that something would happen to fill the void she carried, she had always thought that it would feel like socks stuffed into over-size shoes to disguise the way they rubbed; that she would still be  _wrong_ _,_ somehow, but that something could be done to compensate. This didn't feel like that at all. This was like slipping on her oldest, most comfortably broken-in sneakers after spending an evening with her feet painfully wedged into a pair of the heels Sophie kept insisting she wear. This felt like coming home.


End file.
